Solace
by Reno Spiegel
Summary: A brief meeting between Sephiroth and Hojo on the steps of the Sister Ray.


Solace  
by Reno Spiegel  
Dante@towernetwork.net  
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When he found him, he was going down the stairs of the Sister Ray, and a look of mild interest contorted his face. "What are you doing here?" he asked pointedly, as if the other's very sight burned his eyes. "No matter," the second murmured, and walked right past his hunter as if he were a speck of dirt on his labcoat. And that was his only thought of him, really.  
  
But the first was not to be ignored so easily. Gripping the other by the shoulder, he swung him around. The balance from his left leg went as his right lifted from the stairs, and he was already headed down them when his attacker's fist slammed his teeth together, some breaking off and jamming into his mouth's upper plate.  
  
His pale, weakened frame managed to hold his roll down the stairs, and he bent the guardrail at the bottom to the point one of the sides came loose. Unluckily, his labcoat caught on it, but he was at too odd of an angle to do anything.  
  
He could only stare dumbly as his creation came down to see him. "Sephiroth..." he breathed. Gloved fingers clamped tight around his throat, and his tongue protruded, eyeballs bulging. His air was at nil, and an old man like himself couldn't survive too long being choked by such a strong man. He clawed at Sephiroth's arm, but it just left long red lines that green eyes would never look at seriously.  
  
"You theory," Sephiroth whispered as he knelt down closely to him, giving him just enough esophagus to breathe through, "is that fauna will use flora to prosper past the need of flora at all. My theory is that fauna will destroy fauna and life will continue with flora and fauna at a constant balance." His fingers clenched again. "As of now, my theory seems to be prospering a bit more than your fauna." He traced a vein popping out on the old man's head mockingly, then relaxed his hand. A test of endurance.  
  
Hojo gasped a laugh, a horribly-choked sound. "You fool... What good does war do? It halves the population and leaves room for useless waste to move in... I am here to remove the trash and insert the beauty. In nineteen minutes, this cannon will do just that... Don't you see? The original cannot be beaten by its offspring. You're useless for trying." His voice was stained, and he was speaking oddly, shards of tooth slurring his speech.  
  
Sephiroth's fingers tightened. "I'm useless? Then why send me to do your work, Hojo? Why give me free reign if I'm just "useless offspring" to you?" He reached up and affectionately stroked the old man's cheek. "Because you're a tired old man. That's why. The original? You're obsolete material, you bag of leftovers. Your technology is on the level, but there are so many more with more promise than you, if only you would move out and give them a chance."  
  
The old Professor chortled. "Not a chance. I may be old, but I'm not a fool, not like you. Money is control, and my pockets are only getting more populated, you failure. Aurum Est Potestas. Gold is power. I have twice as much as ShinRa. He just advertises his. I have the silent power. He answers to m --" His breath was gone again.  
  
Sephiroth's fangs, just a thing he'd received through DNA, showed as he turned up his lip, still whispering despite the many mechanic sounds around them. "Money is shit," he said, very slowly, enunciating more than clearly enough. "You want to see power, I'll show you power." His hand crept down, to Hojo's left arm, just below the shoulder.  
  
The old man growled, looking ever-defiant. "You try it. You just try it."  
  
The silver-haired menace's face went back to its neutral state. "And so I shall," he proclaimed. Hojo laughed at him for a moment, but it was replaced with a look of revelation as Sephiroth pinched his arm where he held it, shifted his thumb for a moment, and jerked downward. First the ball popped out of its socket, then the tendons, veins, and arteries all went at once. They might have been able to repair themselves if given the right medical attention, but then he pulled harder, though he didn't seem to be working at it.  
  
Hojo was thoroughly shocked to see his own arm separate from his shoulder. The act of absolute gore...scared him. Sephiroth held the limb to his face, the same lifeblood staining it running freely down his coat and onto the steel landing beneath him. He had even managed to rip the material at the seam. There was immense pain, but his mind blocked it out. If he could have felt it, he would have died right there. "You --"  
  
The other shoved the bloody arm in his face, smearing red up and down his cheeks, across his lips and forehead, then pitched it behind him off the stairs. He leaned down, his mouth so close that Hojo could smell fresh chocobo on it. "Yes, Hojo. I ripped your arm off at the shoulder. No need to tell me. I just did it, I think I know about it. Now listen to me. It is very within my power to kill you here and now. But I don't feel like wasting the energy. So pick yourself up and walk away now before I become a bit less-generous."  
  
The Professor took a moment in which Sephiroth detached his coat from the broken bar, then stood up slowly and staggered up the stairs, going back to the Sister Ray controls. He heard Sephiroth begin his own descent, and he turned. By the time he was down two levels, Hojo, arm spitting blood everywhere, called to him, "Don't forget, Sephiroth, that I created you! Everything I am, you are! Aurum Est Protestas, that is the motto we will live by!"  
  
He turned back to the controls, not caring whether Sephiroth reacted or not, and angled the cannon downward a few degrees. It would hit Midgar dead-center and obliterate it in seconds, given he had gotten the specifics correct. And he had no doubt he had; after all, he was the great Hojo Novehar. Leaving the cannon to do its work, he turned around.  
  
Sephiroth's Masamune caught Hojo at the hip and went upward, all the way to his neck and out just below the ear. Gore and bodily fluids sprayed everywhere, but the tall man used his hand to grab the upper part of Hojo's body, taking his chin firmly inro his hand. He brought it to his face, as though he were listening, but then kissed it tenderly, as one lover to another would. Pulling back, he whispered, "You may have created me, Hojo, but Mother created you. Therefore, everything Mother is, you are, and in turn, I am. And no one tells Mother she's useless."  
  
Throwing that half of his corpse onto the control panel, he flicked his wrist out and deactivated the cannon, then turned and started down the stairs. In his pocket, which was stained the faintest of crimsons, Mother's finger twitched appreciatively.  
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Author's Note: This fic was inspired ever-so-much by A Perfect Circle's "Weak and Powerless." I don't know what pit of hell this came from, but I'll be paying it more visits. One piece of mine that literally scares me. God help me. 


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